Mismatched
by honeybadger42
Summary: After watching the Master die in his arms, the grieving Doctor seeks comfort with an earlier incarnation of his long-time enemy. Takes place after "The Last of the Time Lords" and before "The End of Time." Tenth Doctor/(Delgado) Master.


It was an entirely accidental meeting. It was not a part of any complicated plan, either to destroy or to save the world. But neither of them could resist taking advantage of the unplanned opportunity, both of them willing to ignore their violent history for the sake of one peaceful moment together. One brief period of time when they shared the same desire and there was nowhere else they would rather be than lying naked in each other's arms.

How could the Doctor resist no longer being alone? Erasing, for just a moment, the image of the Master's funeral pyre. His Master. The Master who chose to die rather than travel with him. The Master whom he had been unable to save, no matter how many times he offered peace and friendship and forgiveness. How could he resist this Master? This Master who still had some semblance of sanity. Who could, on rare occasions, be persuaded to see reason. Who still had some respect, admiration even, for the Doctor. The Master who had offered not only to let the Doctor live, but to rule the universe by his side. Of course the Doctor couldn't accept, but his Master would never even have made such an offer.

This Master hadn't yet reached the end of his regeneration cycle, hadn't yet lived as a walking corpse, hadn't yet stolen the bodies of innocent others so that he could continue to live. This Master hadn't yet wiped out a huge portion of the universe in a single day without a hint of remorse, hadn't turned human beings into the monstrous Toclafane, and hadn't rejected countless offers of help from the Doctor.

If only he had tried harder to save this Master. To talk sense into him, offer peace instead of teasing him, humiliating him. If only he had been willing to admit that he wanted to have a relationship with the Master while the Master still wanted to have one with him. He had to admit that he had always been attracted to this Master, but his stubborn pride had stopped him from ever being sexually intimate with him. This Master hadn't gotten anything from him but rejection and mockery. The Doctor couldn't help feeling guilty, as though somehow he should have been able to stop the Master's deterioration, somehow been able to stop their deadly feud from getting worse. It wasn't until he had tried to save the Master's most recent incarnation, Harold Saxon, and failed, that the Doctor had truly realized how much he had let his former friend down. What he had let poor Koschei become by not reaching out sooner and offering his help.

And how could the Master resist? How could he resist a Doctor who didn't mock him, lie to him, and trick him? Who welcomed his touch eagerly, passionately. Who stared at him like he was some precious, rare, and beautiful creature. He couldn't imagine what had caused such a change in the Doctor's attitude towards him and he was both painfully curious about and terrified of what he would find if he tried to search through the Doctor's mind. In the end, he decided against it. Ignorance was bliss.

He didn't know how many regenerations the Doctor had gone through by now, but he suspected that this Doctor was from the far future. There was an undeniable sense of age about him, despite his youthful and enthusiastic body, as well as a deep and incurable sadness that had settled upon him. Certainly, the Doctor had known suffering, grief, and loss in all of his lives. The Master himself had caused a fair amount of it. But this Doctor appeared to be concealing memories of some greater, more permanent tragedy from which he had never truly recovered.

The Doctor's shocked reaction to meeting the Master indicated that, in the future, he had still not succeeded in winning the Doctor over to his side. They were not together, either as lovers or as co-rulers. All of the Master's cunning plans would fail and he would never rule the universe with the Doctor by his side. But why then did the Doctor look at him with such pain, such guilt, such sorrow? What had happened to the two of them? Why was the Doctor so surprised to see him, staring at him like he had never seen a Time Lord before? Had something terrible happened to the Master? Had the Doctor finally defeated him once and for all? But then why would he look so heartbroken about it?

The Master knew that the Doctor cared about him on some level, that he had never quite been able to forget that the two of them had once been friends and there remained some strange sense of loyalty that prevented the Doctor from actively seeking the Master's death. But the Master also knew that the Doctor would always choose the safety of Earth, or any other planet, over the Master. He had learned that lesson the hard way during the invasion of the Axons. He could not imagine the Doctor being this devastated over the Master's death. Something else must have happened to the Doctor to make him this desperate, to make him cling to the Master for comfort. The Master could not begin to guess what events must have happened to bring about this Doctor who appeared to want nothing more than to give the Master pleasure, to achieve a closeness that they hadn't shared in centuries. A closeness that the Doctor's current regeneration rejected every time they met with his condescending remarks and hopelessly stubborn pride. In that Doctor's mind, the Master was nothing more than a nuisance, a distraction from the boredom of the Doctor's exile on Earth. He wasn't someone to admire or respect, not even someone worthy of being feared.

The Master had tried so hard to get over his obsession, to stop himself from wanting the Doctor, despite all of their fights. He had tried so hard to convince himself that he really did want to kill the Doctor, to utterly destroy him. To make him pay for all the times that he had hurt the Master, ruined his plans, made a fool out of him. But there was always that nagging doubt in the back of his mind. The thought that maybe he was lying to himself, that he didn't really want the Doctor dead. That part of his mind that really didn't want to imagine a cosmos without the Doctor.

So how could he resist this Doctor? This Doctor who wanted desperately to please the Master, to make him happy, to make him smile? He knew that it was foolish, pathetic, to give the Doctor this much control over him. But he could not refuse, could not reject the Doctor. He was the Master and he would take what he wanted when the opportunity presented itself. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that the Doctor wanted him. No, needed him. He would let himself be seduced, let this Doctor pamper him, whisper endearments into his ear as he made love to him. He might never have such an opportunity again. He must take advantage of it while it lasted.

And he had control over the Doctor too, he reminded himself. He was giving the Doctor pleasure also, forcing the Doctor to admit his desires, his secret lust. If only the Doctor of his time would stop repressing these feelings. It was unbearably frustrating that he could only find this weakness, this delicious vulnerability, with a mismatched Doctor. That he could only have this kind of intimacy with a Doctor that he knew barely anything about, the result of a completely unintentional crossing of timelines. He had always longed for the Doctor to desire him, of course, but he had not imagined it happening like this. This wasn't the victory that the Master had always sought. This Doctor was an imposter. A Doctor who didn't even attempt to resist the Master just felt wrong. How could this man possibly be a worthy adversary? And why did seeing the Doctor this broken give the Master no satisfaction at all?


End file.
